Days Immortal
by Louise24601
Summary: Emma's life takes an irrevocable turn when beautiful, foreign Reginal Mills arrives to Storybrooke High. It isn't long before she become the high school queen, and Emma realizes some aspects of teenage life do last forever, against all odds. Alternate Universe. WARNINGS: Emma/Queen. Evil Rumpelstiltskin. Bullying.
1. Chapter 1

Emma had always thought of being an adolescent as growing up inside a shell: some funny-looking, nurturing kind of cocoon. Some broke out of it sooner than others and, by the time she was seventeen, she still felt she was awkwardly living into of hers. Some said being a teenager was never knowing what you really wanted: Emma believed it was wanting one thing really strongly and another the next, having a stubborn mind but changing it every so often, because you're still chiseling the angles of the new person you'll become.

All the things Emma had wanted during her adolescence had been with a passion hungrier than she had ever seen in adults. Though there's never more time for things than when you're young, her desires had known no patience. She remembered thinking, _If he doesn't love me, I'll die_ , and meaning it, and when his lips had touched hers and she'd felt their wet eerie softness, disgust had filled her so full there was no longer room to even remember he had been something she wanted.

Emma's parents sometimes made jokes about their daughter being unknowable. She felt it was ridiculous to expect her to know _herself_ , when she was like an ever-changing tropical weather, sunny one moment and shooting thunderbolts the next. Sitting in front of her bedroom mirror on a Monday morning, her eyes set solemnly on her own reflection, she marveled that so few physical changes had come upon her this summer. Not that her limbs hadn't taken the golden-brown shade they usually did: Storybrooke summers weren't the hottest but tanning always took easily to Emma. But apart from that and the fact that her blond braids were a few inches longer, she found she looked exactly the same as the sixteen-year-old who had completed her junior year.

So much happening beneath the surface and not enough above it. That was as good a summary for high school as Emma could come up with.

It was on that Monday, second of September, that Emma was to begin her final year of high school. Though she felt like she should be nostalgic – for the sake of all those flics that purported these were the best days of her life – there wasn't much she would miss from Storybrooke High. Her English teacher, Miss Blanchard, was one thing; maybe the only one. Surely, there had been nice moments, in the past three years. A few inappropriate jokes in class that had made her feel mischievous, routine lunches with friends, _acting_ friendship almost as much as romance, to try and desperately make reality fit with what high school was supposed to be like.

Emma knew, from every book she'd ever read, that high school was supposed to be _great_. It was supposed to go on forever in your mind, to mark you for life. High school was supposed to be immortal.

"Three years down," she told herself, sighing at her young, unchanged reflection. "One to go."

And, of course, there was no reason why that last year should make a difference. You came to accept the gap between your expectations and the unexciting reality. So that morning, Emma got dressed as usual, had a bowl of oatmeal for breakfast she drank down with orange juice after her parents had left for work, then she walked to the bus stop and absolutely all of it felt the very same as it had, for the past three ordinary years.

It had never felt least to Emma as if things would ever significantly change than today.

…

That they started with two hours of history was enough for Emma to drag her feet through the halls. It wasn't the subject she was reluctant about so much as the teacher – throughout her high school years, the man who had been in charge of teaching them about the Pilgrims, the American revolution, the Civil War and etcetera was Professor Rumpelstiltskin. Emma disliked him because of his condescending attitude towards struggling pupils and because of an inexplicable conviction that he was deeply malevolent – she caught it on him sometimes, a shine in his eyes when he gave one of her comrades a humiliating lecture, a twitch in his lips that wasn't exactly a smile. As for himself, he disliked her not because her grades weren't pristine, Emma knew, but because he could sense her accurate judgement of his character.

That morning, nothing indicated his class wouldn't go precisely as usual. The students were austerely silent in their seats while he made his way to the blackboard, carrying the same leather case he had for the past three years. "Morning everyone," he said without looking at any of them. "Today, we greet a few pupils who are new to the establishment."

Right, the newbies. Emma didn't pay much mind to the fresh faces to be seen in the classroom. She'd been happy to hurriedly catch up with the girlfriends she hadn't seen all summer, Belle, Ruby, Zelena. Familiar people were like a comfort zone. Emma didn't much like to get out of it.

"We've got Graham Humbert from New Jersey," the teacher said, with such weariness he might have skipped this introduction altogether and spared the newcomers a great deal of awkwardness. "Killian Jones from Northern Ireland. And –"

The sound of the opening door interrupted the rest of his words. A whisper of startle came over the class. No one dared to be late with Professor Rumpelstiltskin, let alone to interrupt him, however unintentionally. Many of Emma's classmates looked behind their shoulders to catch a glimpse of the newcomer, but Emma was too focused on the look of rare surprise on her teacher's face.

Finally, Professor Rumpelstiltskin recovered his habitual, scornful semi-smile. "Last but not least," he said. "Miss Regina Mills."

The hairs in Emma's neck stiffened for some reason. It could have just been the pleased superiority in her teacher's eyes, but she knew it wasn't.

She could feel it, somehow, that there was something different, that there was something _special_ , a racing in her pulse, an alertness in her senses, the very second that he spoke that name, _Re-gi-na_.

"Tomorrow, Miss Mills," the teacher resumed, "you'll do me the honor of arriving on time. There's no point in bothering to come at all, otherwise."

Emma expected an immediate, docile reply, _Yes, sir_ , would have been what any other pupil would have answered. There was nothing but silence and so Emma finally craned her neck toward the door to check out the new arrival.

She was just finding an empty seat in the back, casual, even _relaxed_ , as if there was absolutely nothing wrong. Long black hair contrasted with the untanned skin revealed by her sleeveless dress. Though her features were harmonious, Emma didn't find her beautiful – there was something too aggressive about her dark eyes, her very arched brows, the strong lines of her cheekbones. Her smile was red and wicked and wide.

"My apologies, Professor," she said after some time, enough time for Rumpelstiltskin's face to have furrowed with a deep frown. "It won't happen again."

The teacher called their attention back to the board and Emma found she had trouble looking away from the woman – not _girl_ , she thought, but woman. Though Regina may not be older than seventeen, she looked, _felt_ older than Emma, whose teenage-round face and blond braids suddenly felt juvenile. There was something about her, undefinable, that kept Emma from focusing on the Professor's class. That striking confidence, that red smile whose curve looked nearly insolent…

 _Regina_.

The name flashed in Emma's mind, bright, blushing letters.

There was just something about it, about the girl, that felt alien from the dull world of high school. It had a taste of untamedness, of riot, of magic.

In truth, Emma's heart squeezed in an iron grip as she realized, there was a touch of _immortality_ about it.

…

 **AN** : I really enjoyed writing this chapter so I should be posting another one soon. I don't suppose that placing the _Once Upon a Time_ characters in school is all that original (although I'll admit I've never read any fanfiction that did) but I really felt it'd be interesting to watch them all intermingle in the strange universe that is high school. You should probably look out for dark themes in the next chapters such as bullying. I also want this story to be about hope and intense relationships (here I'm thinking Queen/Emma though there might also be others). Well, I'd love to hear what you thought about it and where you want things to go. Please leave a comment and come back for a next chapter!


	2. The New Black

Emma remembered thinking she had never before been so fixed on anyone at school. In truth, before that day of September, before Regina, she had seen the other pupils as _groups_ , not individuals. This was the one stereotype which was confirmed in every school, which translated from fiction to real life. Well, maybe it wasn't quite as clear-cut as it was in movies with the goths, the cheerleaders, the athletes, the nerds and etcetera. But people at school moved in clusters, though they might not be as a homogenous as portrayed on screen, that's what they were all the same.

Not Regina.

Not because she was ever much alone, really, though you could tell the black-haired, iron-eyed seventeen-year-old didn't fear solitude. It looks shameful on most teenagers because there's no way of knowing, _have they chosen it, are they enduring it?_ With Regina, you could tell, if she happened to cross the hallway by her imposing majestic self, that she saw no one worth being around at the moment. Just as you could tell, somehow immediately, though it was her first day here and the hour was not yet noon, that a vast part of the school was already at her disposal.

Even amidst a group, the people around her seemed to walk three steps behind, not surrounding her but _following_ , like loyal subjects, without dreaming of claiming equality. There was an air of glad submission on whoever she deigned to speak a word to, made all the more powerful by the fact that Regina didn't relish it – she looked _used_ to it.

For whatever reason, Emma found it all extraordinarily annoying. _It's just because she's the new girl_ , she told herself, _she's from Europe, it's exciting_. The fever would surely pass before the end of the week. What upset Emma, really, wasn't that a student was getting so much attention, but that the swarm of enthusiasm about Regina seemed to lessen the so powerful impression she had made on Emma herself. Now, if she admitted it to herself, the feeling would only look like the unremarkable new-girl craze that was making everybody so wild.

Emma went to get a book from her locker before lunch, after telling her girlfriends to save them a table. There was no particular tinge of nostalgia, at seeing again the familiar space, saturated with pictures and notes from her junior year which she would need to recycle. Emma tried to force it on her, this feeling of pleased rediscovery, as if she'd come a long way since the photos had been taken, since she'd scribbled those words in girlish handwriting.

"Hi neighbor."

The voice ridiculously startled Emma and she slammed the door of her locker shut. She had known, right away, who it belonged to.

It felt incredible that Regina had been so near her without her noticing. What was more, the corridor wasn't actually so crowded that it would diminish the impression of intimacy, but there were still enough people around to ensure this would be talked about.

Emma didn't usually occupy a prominent share of the gossip that went on at school, nor had she ever cared to. Up until now, school had been just that to her, school: classes and pleasant enough conversations with friends that wouldn't outlast the first year of college.

With her red lips breaking into a becoming chuckle, Regina opened the locker right next to Emma's. "Here we both are, then. Locker-mates," She exhaled. There was something always amused and slightly superior about her voice, as if she was in on a joke absolutely no one else in the world could understand. "And neighbors should always be friendly to one another, shouldn't they? I'm Regina," she said, when she was done storing a couple of copybooks in her locker. The red smile widened half an inch. "And you would be the girl next door."

"Emma."

"Lovely." Who knows whether it referred to her name or their encounter or was just a plain assessment of her. "You know, that's funny. I don't think I ever met an Emma before. It isn't too common a name where I come from. But you're exactly the sort of thing I would have pegged one for."

Emma could think of nothing to reply, not even something easy but smart about how well that name became her – _Regina_.

"Ah," the girl sighed, as if exhausted despite that playful grin, "a serious one you are. It's okay, we've got a whole year ahead of us. That's long enough for me to teach you how to take a joke, isn't it? I'll see you in class, Emma."

The power in Regina saying her name made something in Emma's stomach tighten. It reminded her of fairytale magic, when you must know someone's name to own them.

"Ridiculous," she whispered under her breath, gazing despite herself at the girl walking away, hips swaying in her black fitting dress. The confidence she exuded was staggering, Emma felt she was foolishly reeling from it even now. There's the sort of people that walk and then there's the sort that _parade_ , that would look more natural on a stage than they do in a normal setting.

Emma knew then why she hadn't felt the word 'beautiful' was appropriate for Regina. Beautiful was easy. You could imitate beautiful from any magazine available. The girl had something else about her, something so obviously unreachable you could only look from an awed distance. Like the stars, Emma thought despite herself. Regina Mills had an unsettling, _cosmic_ sort of appeal.

…

Zelena was the first one to ask the question at lunch, "What is she like?" And Emma resented it for the mere thought that it must have been asked a hundred times today on school grounds.

"Look," Emma picked up her apple for distraction, they hadn't reached dessert yet. "I've really got nothing to say about it. We talked for maybe five minutes." She sighed to demonstrate a lack of interest. Communicating with friends was being an actor, in more ways than one. "Isn't there anything else we can talk about?"

That she'd have no way of expressing _how_ she thought Regina was like in fewer words than she'd needed for her last dissertation was one reason why she didn't want to talk about this. The other was that she wouldn't want to share her thoughts on the subject, even if it should fit into a presentable sentence.

Ruby shrugged her shoulders, "We can talk about the other newbies. The Irish boy is very cute."

Emma repressed a sigh. _Boys_. Why did this table seem to find such interest in the topic of boys?

"I don't think he's too nice, though" Belle admitted. "During the break, I saw him laughing when some older students went about bothering a freshman."

"Maybe it was just to look tough," Ruby suggested. "Bad being the new black."

"I thought smart was the new black," Emma remarked absentmindedly. How well adolescence could be captured in those few sentences, she thought, youths actively seeking to achieve a constantly changing standard. The girls moved on to the rather more interesting topic of Professor Rumpelstiltskin's class, but soon Emma wasn't paying attention at all.

From the other end of the cafeteria, she spotted Regina quietly making her way to a well-crowded table.

"Em," Zelena called at some point, "are you with us?"

"What?"

The redhead caught sight of Regina too, her gleaming eyes betraying she was in the mood to tease. "Your new friend."

"We aren't friends," Emma answered.

Regina had found her seat by then and had her back turned to Emma. Just then, though, Regina gave a casual glance past her shoulder, shooting all the way from her table to the girls' and reaching Emma right between the ribs. She sat there a moment, breathless, looking back at the girl who everyone had been treating as a queen all morning.

Beaming with that insolent smile, Regina picked something from her tray and waved it casually at Emma. It was an apple, and its red shine somehow felt like another attack, striking her in the throat this time, bringing water to her mouth. Emma became suddenly aware of the apple in her own hand – she dropped it immediately but to no avail.

Regina chuckled and looked back in front of her.

That glimpse of her abyss-black gaze was still burning inside Emma.

Teenage things were fleeting and illusory but this one wasn't. "I think Regina Mills is the new black," Emma said without thinking, would rather to have said it without her friends around. It was the only opinion on the new girl that she cared to share this morning.

The _new black_.

On an even deeper level, Emma was convinced Regina would also be the last.

…

 **AN** : Warnings, I do intend to make Killian kind of a bully in this story, just for the sake of plot and because I think he could really look the part ; ). That being said I am a HUGE fan of Hook, not a hater, so don't hate too hard. Maybe he'll find redemption in later chapters. Anyway, I'm very interested in feedbacks so don't be shy! I'd love to hear your thoughts on the two first chapters and where you'd like things to go.


	3. The Party

The punch was too strong, the food came in gargantuan quantities of chips and salted peanuts, there weren't that many people Emma recognized from high school, and she hadn't wanted to go to that party in the first place. If she _had_ wanted to, even for a brief moment, it was buried too far deep beneath her knotted anxiety for Emma to remember.

The music was bad, the wrong sort of nostalgia – if you're not going to play _Queen_ or _Foreigner_ , why play songs from the seventies at all? – and Emma stood in a corner, with a half-full red cup in her hand, both trying to make herself invisible and resenting herself for succeeding. She'd made an effort to look _womanish_ tonight, what she imagined older women looked like. No braids, even though the long strands of golden hair brushing her cheeks flushed her face with awkward heat. She'd gone for subtle makeup but didn't yet master it like the girl-artists she followed on YouTube, and Emma's 'naked' face always looked closer to no makeup at all than artful imitation of natural beauty.

 _I shouldn't have gone_ , Emma admonished herself for the third time in ten minutes, bearing the plastic cup to her lips every once in a while, so it might look like she was doing something with herself. And in truth, she _wouldn't_ have gone at all, to this house filled with strangers, if Regina hadn't asked her personally. Yesterday, the pale-faced, dark-haired beauty had ambushed her in the hall while Emma was at her locker, picking up a book for class.

"It's at that new kid's house," Regina had drawled with obvious indifference, the sort that looked so cliché on teenagers but which looked impressively genuine on her. She also managed to say "that new kid" without sounding ridiculous though she was new to Storybrooke herself. "You know, that Irish newbie. Killian Jones. He's got a huge house, I keep hearing, and his folks are gone for the weekend. You should try stopping by. No offense, you look like the sort of girl that could use it."

"That could use what?" Emma replied for some reason.

The grin on Regina's lips had turned ruthless. "Fun."

Emma had looked back at her locker, focusing on not looking like a fool – _do_ not _blush_. "Well," she replied, but her casualness sounded like a cheap imitation near Regina, "I didn't get an invitation."

"No one got a _formal_ invitation. You share classes with Killian. You're invited. Besides," she'd taken a step closer and pressed a finger against Emma's shoulder, before Emma could think of stopping her. Regina's hand slid down the fabric of Emma's shirt, her index merely brushing her before it fell back to her black-clad shapely side. "If you need a more direct approach, we can say I've invited you."

Emma had been giddy then, her thoughts fogged with hot confusion, and she'd agreed with a slight nod. Now, she felt ridiculous, most of all for coming _because_ of Regina – Regina, who seemed to own the room and everyone in it, whose face recalled the thorough craft of Greek statues, whose laughter had fire in it, soaring from those painted lips and casting a spell on you.

That night, slightly drunk, unconcerned with logic, Emma felt as if there was nothing worse than to _feel_ that fire, catching your blood, and yet not to be looked at by the woman who had set you alight.

 _I'll go home_ , Emma thought, _call my parents_ , but immediately it struck her as humiliating. They'd want to know what had happened, if something had gone wrong, and of course they'd persuade themselves of the worst-case scenario – _was something wrong with your drink, did boys make you do things, were there drugs, you can tell us if there were drugs, even if you took them of your own accord, we won't be mad, dear_ – no, they wouldn't be, but they'd secretly suspect Emma was a drug addict and she wouldn't see another party until college.

It was best to find a quiet corner and lie low for the rest of the night. After a few more minutes, Emma put her drink down on the mantelshelf and discreetly withdrew towards the door. Her plan was to sneak out of the living room, currently the most crowded room in the house, and sit somewhere where she could be alone, pretending to be drunk if people tried to talk to her.

"Not so fast, now."

Emma didn't have time to make it to the door before a soft, delicate hand clamped around her forearm – the grip was surprisingly firm. Emma swiveled to face Regina, whose red-painted nails looked frightfully elegant on Emma's skin. Gooseflesh seemed to spread to every inch of her. Regina's stare wouldn't set her free, the color of abysses, of black magic.

Suddenly, there was no resent, no question as to why she had ignored her until now. It all seemed to fall together with some kind of logic, one that Emma wouldn't know or care how to explain.

"Come," Regina asked. Her hand slid down her forearm until it reached her palm, her fingers intertwining with hers softly. "Dance with me."

It didn't cross Emma's mind to argue, even as Regina drew her to the center of the room. She couldn't see the other students in the room, couldn't feel their eyes on her. Being close to Regina, being touched by her, was like letting your head sink underwater: the noises grew quiet around you, the world became a blurred shimmer above the surface.

Then Regina started moving, and Emma was barely aware of her own motions. Hips swaying to the slow rhythm of the music playing, bodies twining like dancing shadows on a wall. The girls were still only touching through their joined palms. The music might have moved on to another song and people might have been cheering them on. Emma couldn't say. She'd left the world behind. She and Regina were alone, above ground, into space.

The harmony was perfect, their hands a bridge through time, a landmark in forever-lasting things. The heat between their dancing bodies was so real, overwhelming, to cross it would be to walk through a blazing field, yet when Regina drew her forward, Emma felt it had been the most natural, inevitable thing.

There were no words, hardly any wait, and Regina's lips were on hers, wet softness and cherry lipstick, and Emma thought suddenly of the first time she'd touched snow. The powdery coldness had been a new sensation, unlike any she'd known before. It simply marked a new beginning, the discovery of something she'd never experienced in the world. _Snow_.

Regina's hand curled around her neck, the tender feel of her lips a striking contrast with the eagerness of her approach, palm sliding across Emma's side, clamping her tight, leaving sticky-pink imprints on her mouth, neck, jawline.

The party around them faded to a blurred faraway buzzing.

Emma couldn't actually say where she and Regina were, now, or if they were still dancing.


	4. Morning

The noises from the party downstairs were hushed, like the faraway sound of the waves when you're sheltered in a boat cabin. Even the mediocre songs playing gained a somewhat lulling tone.  
"Whose bedroom is this?" Emma wanted to know.  
Regina was barely smiling now - had never looked more serious. "Ours."  
The mattress was so soft beneath them, sinking under Regina's knees. Emma's head was tucked between velvety-black pillows.  
"Do you think someone might -"  
"No," her voice was dark chocolate sweetness, liquid night. Pressing kisses to the edges of her lips and jaw, wet and without any more gloss to smear.  
"I'm a little drunk."  
"It's okay."  
"And I've never - okay. Okay."

Emma thought sunlight was what had woken her before taking a look around, and noticing the clock on the wall read a quarter to noon. Emma blinked, fresh from her dreams, her surroundings unfamiliar but not frightening. She was too sleepy for fright. It was a strange clock, it looked molten at the end, an imitation of that artist who'd done something so clever with them - an Italian. Emma had a brief flashback of a childhood trip to the museum. _The clock look like it's melting. Isn't that wonderful, honey? The dream merging with the concrete._  
What an appropriate sight for such a morning.  
The sun beamed brightly out the window just by the bed. _I should really get up_ , Emma thought. The house felt too quiet, somehow, and Emma couldn't remember exactly where she'd left her phone - her parents must have tried to call her by now. With an exhale, the young girl sat up and shook herself free of the duvet she'd slept in. Just as she looked down and realized she was naked - at least from the waist up, probably further down - the door swung open, and the good-looking Irish boy that had got so popular so quickly at school - Killian Jones - burst in the room.  
"Well, fuck me." He chuckled with apparent surprise.  
"Oh no."  
Emma tugged a pillow against her breasts without thinking.  
"No, it's okay, love. I like guests to feel comfortable in my house. 'Specially girls." He chuckled again. Laughter could be so cruel in high school, and though Emma didn't feel it was that sort of laughter, she was too young for her own nudity to feel amusing. "I'm sorry, what's your name again, love? I haven't seen that much of you in school yet. Hell, that's the most I've seen of you since I got to this town."  
"Emma," she answered, tense, scared, possibly rude. "I'm sorry, Killian, if you don't mind -"  
"Emma." He said the word with such delight Emma grew more cautious. Laughing may be a natural response when you find a naked girl in your bedroom, now he seemed to be enjoying her discomposure a little too much. "I'm really sorry about this. I should have thought of knocking, it's just I thought everybody had left, and I was looking to get some much needed rest. But hey, this is fortunate. I never got a chance to talk to you that much yesterday night. You and Regina quite hit it off, didn't you? Seen you dancing, love. You've got some moves. I'm not usually into clichés like girl-on-girl, but that was wild. You got me howling like everyone else."  
"No offense, Killian, but I'd really appreciate it if you could wait outside until I got dressed. I'll be out of here in five minutes." She tried not to sound cold. Mischief lurking in the back of his eyes let on he'd enjoy this all the more if she acted embarrassed.  
Emma hadn't really had an opinion about Killian before today, but a few minutes had been enough to decide she didn't like him at all. Didn't like how he was having fun with this, didn't like that he'd called her kissing Regina a girl-on-girl cliché.  
"Ah, don't rush yourself love." He twinkled at her. "Take your time. I'll be right outside. You need anythin', you holler."  
"Right."

For a few minutes after he'd disappeared, Emma remained frozen, the black pillow tight against her breasts, as if he might burst back in again without notice. Her clothes were in a rather neat pile at the foot of the bed. A white tank-top with lace-imitation in the collar - it was what Emma thought of as her sexiest top, she'd thought of wearing that but not her sexy underwear - and a pair of blue jeans, with her cell phone still in the back pocket, thank God. Amidst her own clothes, there was an unfamiliar necklace, a silver frame vaguely hear-shaped, and a small ruby at the core. Emma couldn't remember seeing Regina wear it, not even last night - it was probably tucked beneath the collar of her dress - but she sensed right away that it was hers.

Emma got dressed and put the necklace in the back pocket of her jeans, then wasted no time showing herself out of Killian's room. For whatever reason, she didn't feel embarrassed, at least not as embarrassed as she would have imagined, caught after making love in the bedroom of a boy she barely knew.

Killian was waiting dutifully outside the door, a shimmer of excitement in his blue eyes.

"I'm really sorry about this," Emma said, because it was the thing to say and she'd been taught to be polite.

The smile on his lips let on he knew that was the reason. "Nothing to be sorry about."

"Earlier, you said everyone had left?"

"Uh-huh."

"Regina left?"

"Oh, yeah. Her parents picked her up a couple of hours ago."

"Okay." She didn't sound disappointed and wondered if that was because she didn't want Killian to think she was. "Well, I'm going to go outside and call my folks." They'd probably be pissed off as hell, but Emma felt getting lectured for half-an-hour drive wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, so long as she was going home. After waking up in a strange room and having her nudity so brutally exposed, it might actually feel like heaven.

"I can drive you, if you like." That was saying the nice thing but he didn't sound nice. "I'm going into town, anyway."

"You don't know where I live," and she had no intention of telling him.

He shrugged, eyes wandering to the tiny straps of her _sexy top_. Were her neck and shoulders covered in hickeys, bite marks, telltale smears of lipstick? Emma actually felt she _looked_ different than she had for the past seventeen years, as if sex had an aura and it radiated from her in a magnetic blend of heat and hormones. She'd have to give herself a clean up before her parents arrived, she could just imagine how she looked, with tousled hair and overnight makeup - another cliché, probably.

 _Fuck clichés_ , Emma thought. She never used to say the F-word, even in her own head.

"Well," Killian resumed, "it can't be much of a detour. Come on, let's not give your parents the chance to yell at you so early in the morning."

A few minutes of cautious silence settled. "No offense," Emma said after clearing her throat, "I don't think you're quite sober enough to drive yet."

He chuckled. Emma didn't care that he knew it was an excuse. It was a _good_ excuse. "Suit yourself, love."

"I'll be outside, okay?"

"Sure."

"Do you mind if I use the bathroom?"

"Course not." He winked. "You scrub yourself clean of last night, sweetheart. I'm going to go get some sleep. And don't worry about borrowing my bed, all right? Let's just say you'll owe me one."

"I'll owe you what?"

The smile on his lips was objectively handsome, yet Emma's stomach tingled with disgust and maybe only a little bit of want. She was too confused to be sure. That morning, her brain was chaos, her body was its own boss.

"We can discuss the details later," he said, brushing her on his way to the bedroom.

Emma shook her head, inhaled a deep breath of air, and mustered the strength to look down at her phone.

The ride was thirty minutes of her father awkwardly clearing his throat and occasionally popping a question that tried to look innocent - _how about that party then? Meet any nice boys?_ \- it was good he framed it that way, so Emma didn't have to lie, _No dad, no nice boys_. Just an astonishing, maddening woman with who smiled like the devil and danced like an angel.

It was lucky her dad had been the one to pick her up, her mom being already off at work, she started early even on Saturdays. Embarrassing silence was about all Emma could take right now, before she'd gotten a few hours of rest in her own bed.

"So, um," he said, after he'd parked in the driveway. "Your mom's not going to be home for lunch."

"Okay. Do you mind if I sleep it off?"

"No, not at all. Emma?" He called her when she opened the car door. "I just - I know you'll hear it from your mother tonight, but I just want to say... you can always come to me with the truth. No matter what the truth is. I won't be mad at you. If you're in trouble, you can always tell me."

"Dad -"

"I know you're not. I know you're a good girl, a good student, and it was just a party. But be careful, honey. Boys can be -"

"Dad, I promise. It wasn't a boy thing."

The cringes around his eyes smoothened a bit. "All right."

"I love you."

They both got out of the car and didn't exchange one more word before Emma climbed up to her room and slumped on her bed. Kicking off her shoes, without bothering to undress. She was sure she was going to fall asleep immediately but, for some reason, she reached for her jean pocket, not remembering what she was looking for until the ruby and silver necklace was dangling in front of her.

It was amusing, probably, that Regina had left it so Emma would give it back to her, Cinderella-style.

But it crossed Emma's mind just then that if there were a fairytale character for Regina, Cinderella wouldn't be it.

Notes: Had a great time writing this. Please let me know your thoughts and ideas for the next chapters! Comments are always welcome.


	5. Wakeup Call

The ticking of the clock, the teacher's ramble about _A Tale of Two Cities_ , Emma's pen drumming involuntarily against her table. Oh, the dreadfulness of waiting.

Weren't Monday mornings always insufferable? Yes, you might argue that. That morning in particular, with Regina's heart-shaped locket safely tucked in her backpack, Emma felt otherwise. Literature wasn't a class they had in common. Out of their schedule, which Emma had more or less memorized, they only shared history and P. E.

Emma wasn't sure whether she should give her the necklace back in class or wait to run into her at her locker. That would probably be best. Less people around, more time to talk.

 _Hey, you must have dropped this last Friday. I had a really good time –_

No, stop. Stupid. It was the easy, obvious thing to say. Just because Emma had never needed to say it before today didn't make it less cheap.

Allowing herself to look back on her night with Regina, the wet thread of kisses on their bodies, soft limbs unwinding in the dark, dim chuckles when something betrayed Emma's inexperience.

This wasn't _a good time_.

Emma's heart raced wildly into her chest. A red blush had colored her cheeks at the thought.

This was the best of times.

The best of times, the season of light, the spring of hope. Or so Dickens would have said. Before that night, Emma hadn't known what was happening, what she felt; hadn't known who she was except from a reasonably shy teenage girl. Now she knew something for sure.

The word was well-known to all, no longer really a stigma, but she didn't want to use it. It didn't feel like the right word, too much of a label to fit the bursting fire in her chest. What she was, was elated. At night, she could barely sleep from the excitement, Friday night replaying in her head, ghost-touches on her body, hungering for the raven-haired girl she'd only barely met. Probably, it verged on obsession. Emma didn't see how she could care.

What she was, was maddeningly in love with Regina Mills.

It was the first time Emma didn't stop wanting something right after she'd had it. She still remembered how she'd wanted to go on a date with Neal and thinking he was cute and how wrong it had felt when he'd kissed her. Things with Regina were at a world of distance from this. Emma knew, felt in her bones, that this was something realer, something she'd never grow tired of, in a way, something she could never have. Something that wasn't a thing at all.

Emma Swan was slowly learning to make the difference between whims and passion.

Despite herself, while the teacher went on about Dickens, Emma resumed practicing her talk. _Hi, I thought I'd give this back to you_. _You left before we had a chance to talk_ –

Did this sound reproachful? Should Emma _be_ reproachful?

Really, she only resented that she'd been left to obsess over Reginal all weekend long without a means to reach her. That wasn't Regina's fault, and she couldn't know she'd be leaving her to wake up alone while Kilian found her naked in his bed. She probably hadn't had much of a choice.

The heart gets warier after enough years, but it forgives its first love everything – everything. Emma didn't yet know what _everything_ could mean.

Finally, the bell rang and Emma was jumping to her feet. If she made it first to Rumpelstiltskin's class, she might catch Regina before everyone else. Of course, that was without counting on the fact that Regina would be there last.

Emma waited, her impatience at its cruelest. Sitting in the front row, directly under her teacher's gaze, who looked surprised under an arched, owl-like brow. Few students dared to sit so close to the board, though Rumpelstiltskin was known to pace around the room while giving his class, intruding on the students' sense of secure distance.

But Emma wanted to make sure there was room for Regina to sit next to her when she got there. In the end, the bell had barely struck ten when she walked in the room – not exactly late. Emma saw Rumpelstiltskin's lips tighten with disappointment, for not getting to be too much of a tyrant with her.

"Sit down, Miss Mills," he merely commanded.

Emma was looking over her shoulder, her eyes glued to Regina. Tall, beautiful Regina. Dancing with her, Emma had felt out of space, and then they'd gone upstairs and she'd felt out of time. Immortal. Burning too much to die, to be forgotten, to fade out.

Regina sat in the back. The clump of disappointment felt huge in Emma's throat but she was quick with denial. Of course, she'd not want to sit so close to a teacher who hated her. Rumpelstiltskin himself must have thought Emma was an idiot for doing so.

Truly, that morning, Emma didn't see what fault of Regina's might go unforgiven. It's often underestimated, the power of the person who kisses you for the first time, who tips you over from girl to woman; almost unlimited. Emma felt right now she had gone to school not because she was expected to, but to see Regina; her breathing, her heartbeat, didn't follow her body's will but Regina's. Since the raven-haired girl had taken hold of her hand and they'd both floated to that dance floor, since the cherry-red collision of her lips against hers, Emma had existed only for her, for Regina.

That she was not looking at her made Emma feel like being suddenly out of the sunlight. It got very cold and lonely at the front of the class.

"Back we go, then, to our dear Puritans," Rumpelstiltskin resumed. "Now, someone will do me the pleasure of saying a few words about what we said last week –" The smile on his lips grew wicked. "And as I'm ever keen on rewarding punctuality, I believe, Miss Mills, that we'll start with you."

Emma's head turned again towards Regina. It was pointless to try to stop it. The young girl sitting in the back met the teacher's gaze without shame – actually with an absence of fear. There was something in Regina's black eyes, her apathic look, that didn't suggest rebellion but equality. As if she truly could see no superior authority in the face of a tyrannical teacher.

"The Puritans," Regina repeated at some point. It must have been at least thirty seconds of silence but, miraculously, none of it had felt embarrassing. "Stern folks. Not very much my type. Probably yours, I reckon."

Any normal classroom would have greeted this with chuckles, but Rumpelstiltskin wasn't the sort of teacher you crossed. Every student here was far too astounded to think of laughing.

His gaunt face looked more spectral than ever. The atmosphere in the room was so, so serious that Emma was sure, if she were in Regina's shoes, she'd have burst into tears. Instead, the young girl looked just as majestic as she would have on any occasion – brave, inflexible. Like a queen that circumstances compel to martyrdom.

"The Puritans, Miss Mills," Rumpelstiltskin replied, his voice sharp as scissors, "were far _sterner_ than this school would tolerate of me. Do you see me, for instance, hanging any witches? Flogging dissenters?"

Emma's teeth were clenched tight enough to hurt. Somehow, she felt not like herself but like an animal, claws drawn, ready to fight.

"You'd love it though, wouldn't you?" Emma heard the words coming out of her mouth without really being aware of saying them.

Rumpelstiltskin's eyes went from Regina to her in a startled few seconds. He always greeted surprises with cynical half-interest. "Miss Swan." He said, grinning eerily; she might as well have been a kitten who'd tried to bite for the first time. "And Miss Mills. What an incongruous troublemaking pair. As the both of you are so interested in the Puritans, I'll give you a special assignment. By tomorrow morning, I want each of you to have submitted a two-thousand-word essay on a same topic –" His hideous smile widened. "Shall we say, punishment in the American colonies?"

A strange purring sound came out of his throat as he grinned from ear to ear. It took a moment for Emma to realize he was laughing.

"In the meantime, I have only one more word to say to you both," he articulated with delight. " _Detention_."

…

It really wasn't so bad, Emma thought to herself. Yes, her parents were going to be a little – a _lot_ – mad. She'd never gotten in trouble at school before. With enough luck, she could make them see she'd done it following her sense of justice. Teachers shouldn't be able to humiliate students; humiliation was in ways worse than violence. But of course, Regina hadn't looked humiliated, and justice wasn't why Emma had done it at all.

Emma hoped she'd catch Regina at the lockers before lunch but had no luck, and then, when the dark-haired girl sat at her table, surrounded by her flock of admirers, she felt as unattainable as she had before the party.

It wasn't until they ran into each other a few minutes before they were both due to be 'detended' that Emma got the chance to talk to her.

"Hey," she tried to tame her enthusiasm to a mere cheerful mood – which wasn't how teenagers generally looked when they were about to be detained at school for the next two hours.

The look on Regina was serious, making Emma forget all she'd planned to say to bring up the locket. She didn't have time to say anything, anyway. "You shouldn't have done that, Emma," Regina said. Though her voice was naturally soft, you could tell she wasn't speaking softly. Wasn't sugarcoating the words, treating Emma like a little girl. Which was worth something, at least.

"What?" Emma found her voice again. It was easier to find legitimacy in what she'd done while it was being attacked. "Defending in you class?"

"In class. Anywhere. We should talk."

"We're talking right now."

Her face exhibited no trace of regret or harshness. Suddenly, Emma couldn't understand why it had ever felt difficult to speak to Regina. It didn't _feel_ difficult, when she was looking at her now, the raw honesty in her eyes, the absence of artifice.

"You're a sweet person, Emma," she said. "It's even sweeter that you don't know it. That amused me, drew me in, but I don't think I should have. I think it was a little selfish of me."

It flashed through Emma's mind that Regina was breaking up with her. It was ridiculous, because they weren't a couple, and what they had had felt to Emma like something that wouldn't be possible to break.

"I don't really understand what you mean," Emma admitted. There was no point, right now, in anything but sincerity.

"I mean I'm not right for you."

Emma laughed. Her emotions had gone to such extremes, in the past few days, it made sense to think she was genuinely amused.

"Look," Regina sighed; the air blowing out of her red lips tasted of strawberry gum. "I don't know how to say this – I'm trouble Em, all right? I just am. I get bored and I do things I shouldn't. I don't think. I take what I want. The way things are looking, I don't think I'll stop."

"I don't care, what you do."

"No," Regina agreed. "You'll do it with me. You'll do it, because it's fun, and you've never tried it before and I'll want to. So you'll want to."

"So, what's the problem?"

"The problem is you're _good_ , Emma Swan." Now, there was a slight edge of anger in her voice. "And I don't want to look back on the day I met you, remember how sweet and innocent you looked, and think that I took that from you. I'll hate myself for it. I'm just too extreme, Emma," she exhaled. "If you follow me, you'll burn."

Emma didn't even think of the words. "I'm already burning."

"All right, girls," the teacher who was supposed to watch them during detention made their way to them, chiming tone, heavy footsteps in the hall. "Let's get this over with, shall we? Remember, you girls be silent," he said while unlocking the classroom in front of them, "you try and make use of that time to work on your assignment."

Emma tried to catch Regina's eyes before they stepped inside but never managed. Inside her pocket, the heart-shaped locket seemed to weight a ton.


End file.
